Hypothermia
by snake-eyed-storm
Summary: SIMON Has he?... Crowley, he's been crying, and his salty tear streaks seem to have frozen down his otherwise perfect face. How long has he been out here? His lips aren't blue, they're no color at all. I don't think he has any blood of his own. I check for his pulse anyway. I feel nothing. In which Baz has been in the cold for long, and Simon just got there to help... Open Ending


**SIMON**

I pull my scarf tighter around my neck, if that's even possible. It's the dull red apple colored one I used to wear all the time at Watford. Somehow, I still have it. It's -13 Celcius outside, which is pretty darn cold. My wings are immune to the temperature, but the rest of my body isn't. All the trees around are dead. Well, I s'ppose they're not technically dead, but they appear so lifeless. Their branches are a dull grey, connected to the stump like an odd arrangement of long, bony fingers. A dusting of snow covers their branches, an assortment of flakes falling down to join their counterparts on the ground every time a light breeze kicks up. Out of the mesh of deathly still branches grows a single evergreen tree. It's too thin and tall and the needles are too pale a green to look natural, but it's the only thing alive for what seems to be miles. The shadows under the clumps of needles float and flicker above the snow on the branches and the snow on the ground. There's a crow perched on the highest point of the tree who screams, "CAW!" at me as I walk by. There's another one circling around the tree like a vulture to its prey. The trees aren't the worst part, neither are the birds, nor is the rickety old fence to the right of the path I'm walking down, cracking in some places and rotted hollow in others. No, the worst part of my walk home is the sky. Charcoal colored clouds cover the expanse above me, coming in thick like billowing smoke. Above them, an orange sky shines through, illuminating the more translucent bits with a fire-like glow. If I were a Normal, I'd probably be creeped out right now because of some superstition. I can't say I'm not unnerved, exactly. Penelope would tell me not to chicken out. Penelope would tell me that I'm overthinking again and that I should focus my mind on something else. Something happy. Or nothing at all. This is why I need her. But Penelope's not here. Penelope's in America with Micha and somewhere Agatha is too, and I'm the one that stayed behind.

Our house is coming up in a bit; I'll be absolutely fine. By our, I mean Baz's and mine, not mine and Penelope's. Baz and I bought a small house together after Penny made the decision to go to America. (I will support her no matter what, even if it leaves a big hole in my heart.) It's not that different from Penny's and my apartment. It's got two bedrooms, one for Baz and I and another for whenever Penny's family decides to visit, a living room/kitchen, and a bathroom. Baz finally got to move out of the flat he shared with his Aunt Fiona, who was driving him absolutely batty, (Get it?) and I didn't have to live alone after Penny moved. The only main difference is that the house belongs completely to Baz and me, complete with no neighbors surrounding us on six sides and no monthly rent. It has a nice little front porch with a black, simply designed swing that's probably covered in ice, just like the rest of this landscape. Baz and I like to sit together on there in the evenings, I'd watch the sun go down with my head resting softly on his shoulder and he'd watch me with this fond smile he doesn't realize I notice. I'm not as thick as everybody thinks I am, despite what he tells me. Anyway, there's a quaint little cobblestone path leading up to three steps which allow you to step onto our porch. On either side of those steps are two rosebushes, now covered in only snow and thorns, but once June comes they bloom in the loveliest tint of yellow, about the color of your average daffodil, but less deep.

There it is right now. The nice little yard in front with a path cutting through the middle, the porch, the swing,... the human in raven colored clothes, curled up into a ball, sunk into about a foot of snow? Is that...? Merlin and Morgana!

"Baz? Baz! Baz, are you okay?" I yell, dropping my briefcase and running toward him.

 **BAZ**

So...c-cold... I hear him, but I can't respond.

 **SIMON**

He seems like he should be trembling, but he isn't. I rest my hand on his shoulder and give it a little squeeze. It feels too hard to just be the bone underneath his skin. He feels as if he's actually, literally frozen.

"Baz!" I yell, shaking his shoulder forcefully. His body seems to compress on itself. Why won't he answer me? While keeping my hand on his shoulder I walk around so that I'm facing his front instead of standing behind him. His face is covered by his knees which are kept into place by two arms wrapped tightly around him. I crouch down to get a better look at him. When he doesn't move, I run my fingers through his hair and then gently tug it as to move his head up. When I can put a finger under his chin I do. His head is stiff, as is the rest of his body. I really hope I'm not hurting him. There are bits of snow on his cheeks, right under his eyes. They sparkle in the sun like the intricate, tiny pieces of ice that they are, and I'd find them beautiful on my Baz if we weren't in a situation like this. Has he?... Crowley, he's been crying, and his salty tear streaks seem to have frozen down his otherwise perfect face. How long has he been out here? His lips aren't blue, they're no color at all. I don't think he has any blood of his own. I check for his pulse anyway. I feel nothing. He is a vampire, after all, so he could be fine. They might have some auto reaction like lizards do when they get too cold and just fall asleep. Still though. If I saw a human mage or a normal out here like this, I'd have them rushed to the hospital, casting _Hurry Up_ multiple times if I still had my magic. The least I can do is take him inside. I lift him up bridal style, ready to carry him into our bedroom. I let out the breath I was holding when he instinctively (although far too slowly for my comfort) shifts toward my chest. He's alive. My Baz. Crowley, he's so cold.

 **BAZ**

He's so warm.

 **SIMON**

I turn the thermostat up to 26 degrees Celcius on my way inside. The heater kicks on immediately, so that's one less thing I have to worry about. I don't know if Baz's internal temperature is different from ours, or whether he's supposed to have one at all, but this will certainly help. I tuck him into our bed under the usual blankets plus two extra quilts I found in the closet. I press a kiss to his forehead, then pull a hat over it. Then I run through the house, grabbing blankets from the couch, our walk-in closet, the guest room, and pretty much anything I can get my hands on. I use all of them to cover Baz. I put some water to heat up in our kettle and put my mobile in my pocket because I'm going to need to call somebody. Penny definitely. Dr. Wellbelove probably. For now, I get under the blankets too. If Baz doesn't generate his own body heat, which I'm not sure if he does, he'll need more than just blankets. Baz still isn't moving. It turns out I didn't need to worry about burning up after I got under all these covers. Baz is less like a living, breathing vampire and more like an elegant, angular ice sculpture. He's wearing a dress shirt, as always. I unbutton it and take my shirt off at the same time. I lay on top of him with my bare chest pressing into his. Skin to skin contact is the best way to transfer body heat, as I have been told. He slowly opens his eyes. I cup his face with my hands. The bottoms of his tear streaks start to melt.

"Baz?" I whisper.

"Snow," he croaks. He closes his eyes again as if it takes too much energy to keep them open. I feel him slowly place his hands on my back, and drag them to my sides. It feels worse than easing yourself into a pond of cold water, but it means Baz is conscious. I don't care that his fingers feel like mine did the time I threw a book at him in second year.

"How can I help you?" I ask, quietly, in case a loud noise might disturb him.

"Where am I?" he slurs, moving one of his frozen hands across my back to rest on the nape of my neck. I shiver at the touch.

"At home, love," I respond.

"Can you sit up?" I ask. I don't want to seem overbearing. I really don't want to overwhelm him. I just...I need to know.

"Oh...no," He answers.

I flip myself over and tuck my head under Baz's chin. He chilled my chest, but my back is still warm, so that's the side I want to be touching him.

"I'm going to call Penelope," I state as gently as I can. My voice falters mid-sentence.

"Who's that?" he mumbles.

"Bunce," I reply, hoping he'll remember her. He remembers me... How much does he remember, exactly? Is he going to be like this for a long time? Baz... My Basil. I don't know what I'll do if you don't remember _us_.

"Oh. Her," he replies. I don't know if alcohol can affect vampires the way it does humans, but he sounds as if he's had a bit too much. This is awful.

"I'm going to bring you some water as well. I put it to heat on the stove a few minutes ago," I declare.

"Stay," he rasps, and I want to. So badly. But I can't if it means he'll be in a state like this. I take his hand in mine and press a firm kiss to the center of his palm.

"I'll be right back, Baz," I promise, running my fingers through his hair. He lets my hand go and it falls back to the bed as if they attracted to each other by some unseen magnet as if I was the only one giving him the strength to hold on for that long. It makes me want to cry.

I fill a canteen with water hot enough to be made into a nice chocolaty winter drink but not hot enough to burn someone and soak a rag in the rest. I ring it out after it becomes nice and warm so that it doesn't drip everywhere. Then, I fill the kettle again. I tread lightly back to our bedroom and open the door slowly. I don't want to startle him. He could go into shock or who knows what else.

"Baz, it's me," I whisper while folding the rag once and draping it across his forehead.

"Hello," he mumbles, his voice like a small child's. Like he's talking to someone and he's trying to figure out if they've met before. Like he's confused. I crawl back into bed with him, his chin resting on my head once more. Having done this once already clearly wasn't enough to prepare my body for the temperature of his. I pull the blankets as tightly around us as I can. I'm freezing. I wonder how he felt when he walked into the cold. I wonder if he decided to sit in the snow, or if he had collapsed. I wonder why either of those ended up happening. I wonder why he was crying. I wonder what he's thinking now.

 **BAZ**

I'm so confused. I thought I was outside. I remember everything being numb. My hands, my legs, and my feelings. I was apathetic to the cold and to the tears that were freezing on my face. I was thinking about my mother. Why isn't she here? Where did she go? When did everything go black? The next moment, Simon bloody Snow came out of nowhere, picked me up like a little baby and brought me into this nice little house. I hope the owner doesn't mind. Snow's here right now, lying on top of me. Isn't this great? Simon Snow is here, with me, in a bed, _lying on top of my chest._ I start to giggle. I'm not sure why. Maybe I went mad out there in the snow. Maybe I'm wandering around in a forest and I just can't see it. A snowy forest with both kinds, the snow from the sky and the Snow I'd like to call my own. Maybe this is some kind of a cruel dream. Maybe I'm dead.

I'm probably dead, and I can't stop laughing. Simon Snow is lying on top of me.

 **SIMON**

Is this him getting worse? Is he getting better? I'm dialing Penelope. Now. Baz started laughing maniacally out of the blue. I can't calm him down.

"Simon?" she says, more as a question than a greeting. We usually facetime, so I understand why she'd be concerned.

"Penelope! Thank goodness you answered," I urgently reply.

"Who's that?" I hear Baz ask through his laughter.

"What's going on?" Penny asks, and I can practically hear her grabbing a pencil and paper to take notes.

"It's Baz," I say, chewing on the nail on my thumb.

"Is that him in the background?" she inquires.

"Yeah...I found him outside, Penny. He had taken his coat off for some reason. I carried him inside, he's next to me now. He won't stop laughing! I don't know what to do," is the incredibly condensed version I give her. I won't tell her about the fact that he was crying. He probably wouldn't want me to, if he ever comes to his senses. Fuck it, this is terrible. And now I'm cursing like a Normal in my brain.

"Wha—Simon! He's probably suffering from extreme hypothermia! Gosh, what time is it there?... What first aid have you applied?!" she questions me. I imagine her frantically moving her hands everywhere as she says this.

"Um...Well, I took him inside and I took his shirt off—"

"Take the rest of his clothes off, they're probably soaked," she interjects. I'd blush if the situation wasn't serious. I think it's serious... It's serious, right? Penny would know.

"Gave him blankets and I've got some hot water," I continue.

"Make him drink it!" she exclaims.

"I'm trying! He won't take it," I explain. He claims I'm trying to poison him one minute, and then asks me whether liquids are secretly solids until you drink them the next. He can't keep a single train of thought, it seems.

"Try harder! And call Dr. Welbelove," she says.

"I will, in a minute—"

"Now, Simon," she orders, and then she hangs up. It's not like her to do that. I suppose the situation is worse than I thought. I mean, I guess I just assumed that everything would be okay because Baz is a vampire, and vampires don't get sick. I suppose that could just be with viruses and stuff.

I dial Dr. Welbelove's number. I have to call three times before he picks up.

 **MICHA**

Penelope's been pacing up and down the hallway ever since she got that phone call. It seems as if she's putting more purpose into every step, as if she has somewhere to be, and is actually going there. Penelope isn't going anywhere. I know that look on my fiancee. She's exasperated because she can't go anywhere. Something's wrong, and there's absolutely nothing she can do.

"What's the matter, hun'?" I ask.

"If only I had been there. None of this would have happened. I'd be able to take care of them," she murmurs, more to herself than as a reply to me.

"Is someone hurt?" I continue. She looks up at me as if she just realized she was talking to another person. That's probably the truth.

"It's Baz," she states, working herself up more with every word, "From what Simon told me, I'm pretty sure he has a terrible case of hypothermia. And he didn't think to call the doctor first thing! Honestly, I love that boy to death, but sometimes he acts more like a clueless puppy more than the intelligent human being I know he is. If I were there..."

"Isn't he immune to these kinds of things?" I ask. I've met Baz once or twice, and I've heard so much about him. He seems... unusually resistant to this sort of thing. I've never been told why.

"He's immune to germs, dear. Not the cold," Penelope replies. She pecks me on the cheek and resumes her pacing/mumbling.

"Baz probably can't generate his own body heat, so smothering him in blankets isn't going to do much unless you turn the heat up to something like 90, and—" is what I catch before she paces out of my hearing range.

"Why don't you eat something," I suggest," Simon's an adult. You can worry about them later." I have to get her mind off of them for now. Penny's thinking spirals sometimes. She's usually quite logical, but every once in awhile her anxiety will get the best of her. I'd like to stop her before that starts and she has the time to imagine dozens of horrible scenarios involving the people she cares about most.

"You don't understand," she says, her eyes pleading, "I have to worry about them."

I do. I understand that maybe, now isn't one of those times I can take her mind off things. I get it. Penelope Bunce wouldn't be Penelope Bunce if she weren't constantly worrying about something or someone.

I've met Simon as well. He's clumsy, sure, but he's charming in his own way. If Penelope needs to go mother bird on him, there's nothing I can do but let her. He's been there for her longer than I have. He's lucky to have her as a best friend, but she's just as lucky to have him.

 **SIMON**

"Hello. This is Simon Snow," I say, my usual first thing on the phone, sans when I'm talking to Penny or Baz.

"Simon! I haven't heard from you since...I don't know, the Christmas before last? You don't have to call my work phone, you know. You can—" he starts. I wonder if Agatha ever told him we broke up. Goodness. I don't want to cause any unnecessary misunderstandings.

"I'd love to catch up later, Dr. Welbelove, but I need some help," I say. I'm surprised panic hasn't seeped into my voice yet. Or maybe it has, and I'm too busy panicking to notice.

"What is it, son?" he asks, and I wince. He still calls me son.

"You see," I say, and then pause for a moment.

I don't want to tell him this is about Baz. I'm not sure what he'd say if he knew I was talking about a Pitch. I mean, he is a doctor, and it's his job to help people, regardless of their political issues. I don't want to call Baz my boyfriend, because I'm not sure if he knows that Agatha broke it off with me, and I still don't have the whole gay thing sorted out.

Instead, I say, "It's my roommate."

There. He'd understand. Watford roommates are supposed to look after each other and to love each other as if we were best friends or brothers and sisters. (Or in Baz and my case, something more than either of those.) It would make perfect sense for me to be worried about my roommate.

"My roommate, from Watford. I was walking home and I found him in the snow, almost frozen to death. I'm pretty sure he has hypothermia, or something," I explain.

"I see. You're lucky you caught me at the time you did, son. How bad is it? What's your address?" He questions

"Xxx, xxx, xxxxxxxx. I'm not sure how bad it is, only that he won't stop laughing," I report and squeeze Baz's arm.

"Was your roommate shivering when you found him?" Dr. Welbelove inquires.

"No," I respond. I realize that he could have been dead. All the way dead. More so than what his being a vampire makes him. I don't believe he's dead when he's alive, if that makes any sense. He does. This could have been the end. I got lucky.

He ends the call after saying, "I'll be there immediately." I hope that means he'll teleport. He's not the most powerful mage, so I understand if he can't, but I don't want to sit here thinking about terrible things while I wait for him to drive.

I'm not going to think about anything except Baz. Helping Baz and happy memories with Baz. Not terrible scenarios involving Baz.

Baz, who's still laughing.

 **BAZ**

Snow's hand is under my head and it's soooooo warm, just like the rest of him. Hee hee hee~ That's so funny. 'Cuz he's Snow. But he's warm. He's probably trying to kill me with whatever he's got in that metal cantine. This certainly isn't how I imagined it would be. I thought we'd be somewhere in the midst of a battle. And I'd kiss him as he drove his sword into my chest. Or perhaps somewhere with fire almost bright enough to rival my passion for him. I'd kiss him and then we'd both go up in flames. This feels like it already happened for some reason, though I highly doubt it. I can hardly keep my thoughts straight. Scratch that, my thoughts are never straight. I think I'll give in. I think I'll drink whatever he's giving me, and then I'll kiss him, and then I'll know for sure when I'm dead. This is hilarious. I drink the drink, and it's just water, but it's hot. I can feel it go down my throat and through my chest. It stays warm for a little bit, but not nearly long enough, because I'm soooooo cold. And because there is nothing that burns me worse or lingers longer than the touch of Simon Snow's bare skin on my own. So I kiss him. He kisses back, and it's so fast that I almost can't keep up. His tongue is in my mouth and he's frantically brushing it back and forth against every surface, my lips, the roof of my mouth, my tongue, my throat, everything, as if he's trying to create friction inside me. And friction means heat. As if he doesn't understand the fire that ignites in my chest every time he does so much as look at me. It's so, so hot. He's rubbing my stomach as if he's been with me for years and he knows _exactly_ what to do to make me lose control. I know now I can die with no regrets. When he pulls away from me I drink the rest of his hot poison, because why not? As I fall backward onto the bed that _Simon Snow_ is sharing with _me_ , I hear a sound that sounds similar to a distant doorbell, and I know this must really be the end. I thread my fingers through his and I smile. He doesn't try to hurt me. I close my eyes.

 **SIMON**

Well... I feel pretty embarrassed, I guess? I'm not quite sure what to feel. Relief, sure, but what else? Dr. Welbelove came in and out in the blink of an eye. He put Baz to sleep with _'night_ and used the spells _you're getting warmer_ and _get well soon_ as treatment... Then he left after saying three things, "Keep an eye on him and give him warm fluids when he wakes up,", "Your friend will be fine, son," and, "Come catch up with us sometime." That was it. Penelope could have used those spells. She could have done this 45 minutes ago. Everything could have been fine by now. I sigh and stroke the back of Baz's hand with my thumb. I'm absolutely useless as a magician. I might have been able to heal Baz if I still had my magic. I'd probably set the house on fire, but still... And yet Dr. Welbelove was one of the people who suggested I run for the position of the lead mage. As if anybody would actually listen to me. Urg. I'm going to put that on one of my lists of things not to think about. Baz will wake up in a while, and I'll make fun of him for how he acted while his mind was all warped, and he'll probably shoot back some clever insults, (no, not probably, definitely) and then we'll call Penelope again, and everything will be back to normal. I keep telling myself this. It's the only way to keep my mind from wandering.

I put some of the blankets away. After Dr. Welbelove hit him with those spells, his skin temperature became warmer than it usually is on a normal, summer day. But what's on my mind now is the word friend, even though there are more pressing matters to be dealt with. I mean, I love that word. Aggie is my friend, even though I haven't heard from her in, like, a year. Dr. Welbelove must think otherwise. Penny is my best friend. She always will be. The word describes us perfectly. I love her, she loves me, p-l-a-t-on-ic-ally. It's beautiful. And I don't know why I'm even thinking about this, but Baz... He isn't my friend. He isn't just my roommate either. And for some reason, it hurts to hear other people call him that anyway. Even if they don't know.

I love him.

I, Simon Snow, am in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

I kiss his temple. He will be alright.


End file.
